9.23.2006

It's been a while, homeslices, I've been in one of my distracted blogging stupors, despite an abundance of potential topics... To all involved, I apologize. The Anna Nicole Smith son death in birth chamber episode would seem to demand comment, but out of respect for Anna Nicole, I must demure.

You see, I've been distracted. Distracted by cats. I've recently adopted two delightful sister calico cats. I was tempted to name them "Dan" and "Rich," but decided that might be taken the wrong way by my dearest friends, or at least by Ariel, so I decided on the names "Dark" and "Deep" instead. Think of those names as double metaphors, titles whose edges slide just a little under the coffee cup of life. Here are some not at all pseudo parental or obnoxious photos:This is the beautiful Deep. She is a born hunter who often engages in games of chance with her loving gaurdian, Nostradamus. Here is Dark:Being not yet six months old, both cats are rather more than kittens but still somewhat less than cats, as the honorable T. S. Eliot would no doubt have it. Dark is a generous and splendid sharer of her affections; her moods are a simulacra of human pulchritude. I do not know where else I could find such a trusted spy, a willing informer, in short, a dedicated, for once not traitrous, friend... She observes for me, she observes more keenly than those seen could ever know.

9.11.2006

As you may have noticed, the coverage of the Holloway disappearance has faded substantially since the lawsuit against the Van Der Sloots was dismissed. It's time we changed that.

To begin we'll check out the words of one Dave Holloway, author of Aruba, and father of Natalee as interviewed by some clown from Fox News last April: I guess it is possible that the Aruban authorities are as corrupt as he insinuates, but what's with dragging the whole country's reputation into this? As we all know, Natalee Holloway didn't follow good advice!

Here is an hilarious Inside Edition spot on a Joran sighting by some deranged would-be Paparazzo:

Poor guy. I like Joran, in the same way I like Emmanuel Lewis, or Bubbles. You know what I mean, as a pathetic, most likely pathologically evil freak of nature to be gazed upon with a blend of fascination and horror... Anyway, this bitch has taken it one step too far. Even I wouldn't stoop so low! Check this: That's the un-"doctor-philed Deepak interview segment. I increasingly believe these cats had nothing to do with this at all.

That's all for now, but let's hope some more thrushes of news emerge from the brush for us to devour.

9.10.2006

King Taufa'ahau Tupou IV of the great nation of Tonga has died in New Zealand, presumably of natural causes at the fine age of 88. Tupou was the last reigning Polynesian monarch. But don't worry, he'll soon be replaced by two very tustworthy heirs:

As the king battled ill health in recent years, much of the royal power passed to his eldest son, 58-year-old Crown Prince Tupouto'a and daughter Princess Pilolevu Tuita.

But both are controversial figures due to their stranglehold on some of the country's biggest businesses and lavish lifestyles which contrast to the poverty of most Tongans.

Tupouto'a controls the island's only power company, brewery, an airline and mobile phone company. Pilolevu has made a fortune based on leasing out valuable satellite communications slots over Tonga.

That honestly reads like a Hollywood Movie/Trash Manga Film waiting to happen. Can't you just see it, the two siblings vying for robber-baron like control over the small Pacific island's meager resources while their people starve? The movie would of course center on a shadow society bent on wresting power from these two malevolent fools. Various henchman would be dispatched, but they would be helpless against the mystical Cargo-Cult power of the shadow society. Eventually the two rulers would be killed in a "stage boss" segment. Peace and prosperity would surely follow... But let's learn more about Topou:

Tupou became a more isolated and eccentric figure in his later years.

A scheme promoted by a Korean Christian cult in the 1990s -- and enthusiastically adopted by Tupou -- to convert Tongan seawater into natural gas predictably came to nothing.

The impoverished country made about 30 million US dollars through selling Tongan passports to mainly Asian buyers from the mid-1980s. But a scandal erupted in 2001 when it emerged nearly 26 million dollars had been lost in speculative investments by the king's appointed court jester and former US banker Jesse Bogdonoff.

Korean Christian Cult? Court Jester? This is too much. Oh, and Tupou also weighed 400 lbs...! Worry not, I'll keep a close eye on the Tongan crisis as it develops.

9.07.2006

The Croc Hunter is dead, despite all of the bionic enhancements paid for by our government. I know this guy fell out of a plane (in service of the US of A) and broke every bone in his body, but now that he has been killed by a usually harmless (As of 1996, worldwide known deaths from stingray barb injuries numbered 17) marine animal, isn't it our civic duty as taxpayers to complain? With the adamantium skeleton, combined with the DNA firmware update, plus the Australian accent lessons we poured a lot of money into this sucker, and he gets killed by a two bit sea-fauna like this clown? I don't believe it. The video, which will hopefully surface on YouTube soon, that purportedly shows Monsieur Austin pulling the stinger from his heart will no doubt be a wistful final reminder of our killing machine's courage and inhuman zeal. But will it be worth it? It's a sinister calculus, weighing the pleasure of seeing a man rip a poisoned barb from his heart against the deep pain of knowing it is a one time affair, at taxpayer expense... I find myself caught in an almost Foucaultian paradox, my mind stumbling over two parallel and seemingly equal plains of possibly true outcome but knowing that somehow each is irrevocably false. The bridge! Oh the sweet bridge! Charon, guider of souls, lead me free of both shores and lend to my step infinity, that talent your strokes have learned most brightly!

Anyway, it is a bittersweet sadness overcomes me now, like a harp plucked badly by a sightly wench... Austin should have been more careful, knowing his own value, or more precisely, his cost to the society he loved. It seems that all of this was unnecessary, a harsh contingency wrought from the brutal and unnecessary concord between man and nature. Why, for the sake merely of media, would one so blatantly tempt the gates of oblivion? I suppose I have thought something about this... But until now, it has been only a fragmented glister of the gleam to come! This death is but a harbinger of future deaths; the collusion between the camera and the world has grown to Godfather level proportions. Only a Fidel Castro of the New Media can liberate the freedom of the world, through dictatorship. Ahem...

But to Steve Austin, Crocodile Hunter, we pay a Six Million Dollar tribute: